Whatever Remains Must Be The Truth
by ArcheryGirl1101
Summary: What if Jim really was just an actor paid to lead Sherlock down a path he wished he had never chosen. Who would do such a thing?


A/N: I don't own BBC Sherlock.

First half of the dialogue was borrowed from the broadcasted script.

 **Whatever Remains Must Be The Truth:**

At the Pool where Carl Powers died Sherlock breezed through the humid air that linguered with the insufferable stench of chlorine, taking into account the balcony being lowly lit, a perfect hiding spot for a special surprise. As a safety precaution Sherlock had snuck John's gun along with him, tucked carefully under his blazer coat.

Keeping his hands clasped behind his back, listening to the echo of his footsteps Sherlock was silently thanking John's girlfriend - who's name was nowhere near important was keeping him away from this finale of a case.

"Brought you a little 'Getting-to-know-you-present'" Sherlock waved the memory stick almost triumphantly that had cost too many lives already, spinning back on himself Sherlock continued to observe the rest of the room "That's what it's all been for, isn't it?"

With the miniture pause that followed a trace of hope or relief, he wasn't sure which, came over the Detective. For a moment he believed he had bested Moriarty "All you little _puzzles_ , making me _dance._ All to distract me from this" Sherlock wanted to think Moriarty desired these plans but he was only fooling himself, of course there were easier and subtle ways of gathering this information without _Anyone_ knowing about it.

Turning his back once more to the wall being patient was becoming tedious, the dramatics were tiring, even for Sherlock. Making small, pointless deductions about his surroundings, the metallic click of a lock unfolding caught his attention. Yearning for information Sherlock's green-ish eyes scanned the area. A parka jacket - old, barely used in years - was emerging but it had no occupant, it was being held. The man walked out from the doorframe.

It wasn't who Sherlock was expecting, the last in fact; John. His John was standing there with a hardened expression on his face "Evening" He greeted as Sherlock, still in shock about the revelation, subconsciously moved closer to enemy- no friend- No. Moriarty "This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock?" "John? What the Hell-" "Bet you never saw this coming, you blind idiot" John's tone had changed from his empty demeanor to condescending "I uh..." John seized the oppurtunity to push the metaphorical knife deeper, he faked a gasp "No..! John? My best friend that always tags along? It can't be, Moriarty is using him" John pretended to be suspicious with over the top facial expressions and giving dramatic eyes.

Sherlock couldn't think anymore, lowing the USB drive by his side "You can throw that away, you know? Or actually give it to Mycroft, either way- BORING" John's voice was sing-sing like "Why on Earth do you think I ever came into contact with you Sherlock? I thought you were clever, yet you couldn't see what was lying right under your nose" John discarded the jacket and kicked it behind him "Did you like the little touch about me fancying you?"

The Consulting Detective could only stutter nonsense words and noises "If you really wanted to kill me, why become my friend?" "I was bored" "What about the military-" "The hospital, the training, Afghanistan, all made up! I found myself far to bored to actually do any of that, I just wanted to see what you would do with the information given to you, turns out... Nothing" John shrugged and turned his back on Sherlock, he returned by pulling out the gun he kept hidden "No you won't" "How would you-" "You fell, Sherlock" John's voice cut him off, it was soft, pretending to care - he was a professional at it by now. "A fall. I. Owe. You. My Dear," "What about Jim?" John scoffed "Please show some intelligence. I hired him to pretend to be me and I must say he did a smashing Job.

John gave a fake grin, "You can stop pointing that gun at me because you're not going to pull the trigger" "People have died-" "That's what people DO!" John's voice echoed throughout the swimming pool. Sherlock had to refrain shuddering "John Watson, you made him up, all for the Game?" "Yes, and isn't it going swimmingly?" "You are aware Mycroft and I will be after you now?" John shrugged "What's new? Mycroft can't make me do anything I don't want to, besides... you still need to figure out The Final Problem... What was his name? What was his name? Oh yes, Redbeard" John's grin was fake as Sherlock visibily shook "How did-" "Please Sherlock, you told me, well John, but me either way" John pivoted to leave "If you made it all up, what happened to your shoulder?" Sherlock was now genuinely curious however he still struggled with withold heartbreak "You can thank Mycroft for that. I'll be seeing you soon, Sherlock. The Game is still on"

Sherlock could only barely collect himself as the door shut. Shaking still Sherlock crouched by the water and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, cringing. "My friend... never existed" Taking sorrowed breaths Sherlock found himself outside the aquadome. His phone rang and for once in his life Sherlock picked up "Mycroft..." "Brother mine, I have a car awaiting you just around the corner" Hearing his feet slap the concrete Sherlock only listened the pool exploding. Sherlock found a significance, the day his friendship of John Watson died, actually blowing up in his face so did the pool. Case closed.

John Moriarty just shrugged meaninglessly at the burning building while in his own chauffeured car, he had already burned Sherlock's heart and now it was time to finish the job.

As if standing next to each other they spoke in unison "The Game is on"


End file.
